The Doctor & The Barbarian
by Aelia Douglass
Summary: FalloutKinkMeme. Arcade just wants to read in peace, but the Courier is having none of it. Slash-y Fluff. One-Shot.


A response to a prompt at the FalloutKinkMeme.

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><p>"What are you reading?"<p>

Arcade has always hated that question, even when asked by someone he generally likes. It grates on him even more because he knows that Liam is asking just to annoy him. Because he has told Liam in _explicit detail _how very much it annoys him to answer that particular question.

"Faulkner." His answer is terse, but it doesn't seem to bother Liam. It never does.

"Why? What's the point?"

That's another question which Liam knows will annoy him. He explained _that_at length just yesterday. That books are not a 'waste of time' or 'stupid,' and that they are, in fact, both interesting and useful.

Instead of trying to explain again, Arcade begins reading aloud, hoping that some iota of knowledge will seep its way through Liam's thick skull. The man is built, and absolutely _gorgeous_ but he's thick as a rock sometimes, and lacks any of the polish that Arcade likes in his men. Sure, there are others who can keep up with him in a conversation, and what happens in his fantasies is not often about _talking_ but a well-rounded package shouldn't be too much to ask.

His voice trails off as his thoughts of Liam's _package_ distract him. Using that distraction, and is superior reflexes, Liam seizes the book. _That_ drags Arcade's attention right back to the present. He is furious when he realizes that not only has the oaf _taken_ his book, but he's _lost his page_ which is a criminal offense of the highest order.

"Give. That. Back." The words are punctuated with furious jabs at Liam's chest. The tall brunette simply quirks an eyebrow. He smirks, and holds the book up, flipping to a page at random and beginning to read.

"He went on, passing still between the homes of white people, from street lamp to street lamp, the heavy shadows of oak and maple leaves sliding like scraps of black velvet across his white shirt..." He doesn't get far before Arcade grabs for the book and knocks it out of his hands. Once again, the Courier's speed is too much for Arcade. The heathen has the book again and is reading to himself, his frown deepening.

"Well this is a pile of useless drivel, isn't it?" Liam makes a face of distaste. "There's not even any pictures."

He steps up to the window, casually opens it, and throws the book out.

Fury overwhelms Arcade, and he launches himself at the barbarian. He wants to strangle him, but he can't seem to wrap his hands around Liam's throat. He lands a punch, but he's not as good at killing and destroying as Liam, and he's ineffective. Before he knows what's going on, his arm's been bent behind his back, and he's being crushed against Liam's chest in an incredibly uncomfortable position.

"Shouldn't have done that," Liam growls into Arcade's ear. He lets the words hang there for a moment, for the precariousness of his situation to really _hits _Arcade. He's just pissed off the best killer in the Mojave, and he's completely at his mercy.

He's expecting the worst, so he's completely floored when Liam kisses his neck. He's unshaven, and the stubble scrapes roughly against the tender skin, but Arcade's always found it kind of hot. He's not sure whether he should be excited or terrified, and the uncertainty makes the entire situation more thrilling. Aside from the fear of imminent death, it's a lot like some of his fantasies.

Arcade's arm is slowly lowered until his shoulder doesn't feel ready to dislocate. Liam continues nuzzling Arcade's exposed neck with surprising tenderness. He's not a soft man, not thoughtful, or conscientious. He's a battle-hardened, rough-around-the-edges warrior. He's a muscle-bound idiot, a man with too many scars to count. But he's gentle with Arcade, now that he's got him this close.

Liam says something, but Arcade doesn't quite catch it. Liam's hands are too distracting as they slide under the hem of his shirt, brushing the tender skin teasingly.

"Hmm?" The fury has seeped out of Arcade, replaced by desire. He's _enjoying _this situation, or at least the hard body he's being held against. It's like all his fantasies have come to life.

"I said, I dislike Faulkner; he's pretentious, and his prose is deliberately convoluted to the detriment of the story."

As shocking as the last couple minutes have been, Arcade wouldn't have thought things could get more unexpected. He was wrong. He is completely flabbergasted by Liam's words.

"You..." In the shock of the moment, Arcade's usual eloquence deserts him. "Sneaky _bastard_."

Liam chuckles, still holding Arcade tightly enough that he can't storm off the way he wants to.

"You were just so _sure _I was an idiot," His lips are brushing against Arcade's ear as he speaks, and the sensation is so wonderfully distracting that he now wonders if it's calculated. "And it was the only way I was going to get you to come with me, so I rolled with it."

Arcade wants to protest, but he can't, really. He'd seen the Courier talking to Julie, and he'd known the man was bad news. He'd been attracted instantly, so he'd been determined to avoid him. And then he'd realized that Liam was an idiot, and that he had to protect him from himself and- now he sees the clever trap he's fallen into.

"So, Arcade," The courier releases him, and steps back. "The way I see it, you have two choices. You can go back to the Fort in a fit of righteous indignation or..."

"Or?"

"Or you and I can spend the next several hours seeing if fantasy is as good as reality."

Arcade pretends to think it over, but really, his decision is already made. He knows what he's going to do, and he wonders if the Courier is as sure of his decision as he is. They size each other up for a moment before Arcade responds to the Courier's assessment of the situation.

"In my fantasy, there was chocolate syrup." Arcade says.

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><p>I love reviews. If you want to make my day, tell me what you think. (Constructive Criticism is welcome.)<p> 


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